Out Of The Woods
by stranded chess piece
Summary: A mission goes sideways and Clay goes for an unexpected swim. Set not long after Clay joins Bravo.


**Yay for season 3! This is really just an excuse for a little Clay whump. Set early Season 1, when Clay is still new to the team and finding his feet with them. Thanks for reading :)**

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Clay took a long drag of his beer, placed the glass down and watched the tiny bubbles rise and pop through the amber liquid.

On the bar stool beside him, Brian sat semi-turned towards him, one finger slowly turning his soggy cardboard coaster.

"You want another one?" Clay asked, nodding towards his best friend's empty glass.

Brian twitched a smile, shook his head. Continued to twirl the cardboard square.

Clay was leaning forward, elbows on the counter top. He blew out a slow breath. His head felt fuzzy, eyes gritty. He couldn't be sure how many beers he'd had. Which was probably a sign he should stop drinking.

Brian cleared his throat, pulled himself straighter on his stool. His eyes skipped to Clay. "You know," he said seriously. "I spent a long time worrying about who would watch your back, after Green Team."

Clay took another sip, glanced at his friend.

Brian offered another smile. "I worried about who would make sure you didn't get into trouble. Or do anything stupid." He let his gaze drift away. Ran a finger around the rim of his glass. "Who would kick your ass, if needed."

Clay scoffed. "I could take you down any day."

Brian raised a brow. "Knock your ego down a peg or two, when necessary."

Clay rolled his eyes.

Brian ignored the eye roll, pinned him with a look. There was an unwavering certainty in his eyes. A warmth. "But I've realized that you're gonna be just fine," he stated.

A beat passed between them.

Clay drained the last of his beer, set the glass down unsteadily. His vision was a little fuzzy around the edges. He leaned heavily on his elbows, keeping the glass between his hands. Was the room swaying? He felt slightly detached.

Brian was still regarding him, expression thoughtful.

Clay shifted under his friend's gaze. Quirked half a smile.

"Bravo is the right team for you," the darker haired man said, tone genuine. And then he admitted, "I was worried who you might end up with. But they're the right fit, I can see it. They need you, just as much as you need them."

Clay thought about the men in question. He wasn't so sure. Some days he felt like Jason barely tolerated him, and Ray was only being civil because he had to. He'd only spoken with Trent a handful of times, despite his best efforts, and Brock offered a smile here and there but otherwise was a closed book. And Sonny, well, it was obvious the Texan didn't care for him at all. As far as Clay was concerned, the only team member who seemed to genuinely like him, was Cerberus.

As if reading his thoughts, Brian smiled again and shook his head. "Don't give up on them," he said encouragingly. "They lost a team mate. It's still raw. You're the rookie. It'll take a little time, but you'll find your place with them."

Clay chewed his lip. Yeah. He'd see about that.

"But you've gotta remember that trust goes both ways, man." Brian peeled the soggy coaster from the counter, began to fold it, bend it, break it apart.

Clay watched absently. God, he was tired. His eyelids felt heavy. It was probably time to head home. The room was still swaying, and his head had started to pound.

"You've gotta let them in," Brian's voice wavered, sounding a little disjointed now.

Clay blinked at him. He couldn't quite focus on his best friend's face. His vision was blurring even further. Damn, the beer was really hitting him hard.

"They'll have your back, I promise." Brian's words floated.

Clay tried desperately to blink his eyes clear. Something was off. His heart rate picked up. Panic started to bubble.

He could just make out Brian's gentle smile, as his friend faded.

Clay's stomach turned to ice.

Why was Brian fading?

Clay's malfunctioning eyes darted around.

And why was there no one else in the bar?

He swallowed jaggedly. Nothing was making sense. Had there ever been other people in the bar? Why could he not picture the bartender who had served their beers?

Suddenly Clay couldn't remember anything before the last few minutes. With rising distress, he realized he couldn't even recall how he'd got here.

Frantically, he scrubbed his eyes. His hand came away damp. Was he crying?

He glanced at his crimson fingers, felt his stomach drop at the sight. Blinking rapidly, he realized there was blood in the lashes of his right eye.

Where the hell had it come from?

His headache increased in intensity, and his chest suddenly felt horribly tight.

"Sonny might seem gruff," Brian's voice was echoey now, though he was nowhere to be seen. "But he has a good heart. He'll be a good friend. I like him. You'll see."

Clay felt like he was about to topple off his stool. He gripped the counter desperately, eyes searching for his best friend. With a start, he realized that his clothes were soaking wet.

Why the hell was he all wet? Had he been wet all along? There was a puddle on the floor. Surely he would have noticed that earlier.

Panic and confusion overwhelmed him. Something was horribly wrong. He was in a jigsaw puzzle nightmare, with too many missing pieces.

"Brian!" he called out desperately. But he wasn't even sure the words left his lips. Did he even open his mouth?

He gasped, desperate for air. But none came. The room spun more violently. Darkness seeped in from the corners of his vision.

The stool suddenly disappeared from beneath him, and he was catapulted into oblivion.

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The first time Sonny met Clay, he hadn't cared for him at all.

When Jason had decided to draft the kid, Sonny hadn't been happy about it one bit.

After a few missions with their rookie, he still wasn't a fan.

But then Clay had gone and fallen into that damn basement in Al- Qa'im, and something inside Sonny's previously well-guarded fortress of a heart had shifted.

He'd realized with a start that he was absolutely _not oka_y with the prospect of Clay being taken from them. The intensity of the fire that ignited in his belly, as he'd demanded they go after their boy, had both surprised and scared the shit out of him. Because it meant that somehow, the cocky little turd had managed to disarm some of the Texan's normally impenetrable defenses.

God damn that kid.

When Jason had approached him in the gym and had asked him to look out for Clay when they deployed, Sonny had made a song and dance about it. He was no babysitter. No, he was not happy about being ordered to watch out for their rookie.

At least, that's what he'd told Bravo One.

Deep down, however, Sonny realized that he was already doing just that. And had been since that damned incident in Al-Qa'im. Not that he would admit it to any of his brothers. Hell, he struggled to even admit it to himself.

But there was something about Clay Spenser that had got to him. And he could see that each of his brothers were in the same boat. The reckless young SEAL, who they'd initially written off, had proven time and time again that he was more than worthy of his position as a tier one operator. He was frighteningly talented, sharp as a tack, could outrun them all, and was possibly the best sniper Sonny had ever seen. It was obvious that Clay's career would likely eclipse that of his father's.

Speaking of which, Sonny had wondered more than once how the two Spensers could possibly be related. He found his hackles rising protectively whenever he overheard anyone badmouthing Clay, simply because of his unfortunate relation to Ash. Sonny had been guilty of that badmouthing once. Now, however, he knew better.

Clay was a good man, a good operator. And he would most likely be one of the greats. Jason and Ray had seen that in him when they'd drafted the kid. Sonny had just been slow to catch on - seeing the best in people wasn't one of his strong points, he would admit it. He would do what he could to take their rookie under his wing, make sure Clay didn't let his ego get the better of him, or go do something stupid - like get himself killed before he ever got to reach his full potential.

Caring about someone, especially in this job, was always a risk. Sonny had done his best not to care about his team mates on a personal level, but one by one, he'd lost that battle. They weren't just team mates – they were family. And the line between field and real life was blurred beyond repair.

At the end of the day, as much as he and Clay butted heads and annoyed each other sometimes, he really did like the kid and wanted his littlest bro to stick around.

Which is why he was about two seconds away from completely losing his shit right now.

Now - as he knelt in the mud, on the bank of a narrow but swiftly flowing Romanian river, desperately trying to revive Bravo Six.

Sonny hadn't liked this mission from the get-go. It was a basic snatch and grab, but it was in a small Transylvanian village that involved a hike through the woods. At night. In steep terrain. Sonny had thrown up his hands as Mandy had given them the run-down. Had none of them heard of werewolves? _Vampires_? He'd stated his concerns very clearly. But the others had, as usual, laughed him off. Well, let's see who's laughing now. He'd just known that something would go wrong. One didn't simply waltz into Transylvania, and expect to emerge unscathed.

They had acquired the HVT – a mafia boss with links to some serious drug and weapons smuggling, as well as a host of mysterious disappearances of local women. They'd dragged his ass out of the village and had only (accidentally) set fire to one barn in the process. The fire would distract the other villagers, who would be too busy extinguishing it to worry about the heavily armed men who had paid them a brief visit. And they'd taken out mafia boss' friends in the house they had raided, so no one should be following them. At least, not for a while.

Things had been going smoothly until halfway through the half hour hike back to exfil. They'd been picking their way quickly along a narrow path high on the edge of a steep gully, their HVT stumbling along bound and gagged. The ground was soft, muddy from recent rain. A river could be heard not far beneath them, tangling trees above and below them, casting inky shadows. Sonny had been towards the back, with Clay behind him, bringing up the rear. He'd been thinking about all the things that could possibly be lurking in the shadows, when he'd heard Clay go down with a yell and a grunt. He was embarrassed to admit his first thought was that the kid had been taken out by some sort of nightmare creature.

Spinning around, his heart hammering and his stomach in his throat, he'd quickly realized what had happened. The side of the path had given way, weak from being trodden. By the time Clay had stepped in the slippery spot, the earth had come loose enough to slip. And it had taken the kid down with it, towards the river, the hungry darkness swallowing him up.

Sonny had keyed his comms, not wanting to call out. The group had come to an abrupt halt and within a few seconds Jason was beside him, expression grim as he tried, unsuccessfully, to raise Clay on the radio. Cerberus whined and pulled on his leash, wanting to drag Brock over the edge to search for their boy. Jason made the decision – Ray and Trent would take the HVT to the clearing that marked their exfil point; and he, Brock and Sonny would look for Clay. Hopefully Cerb, with his keen nose, could make that search quicker. Unless, of course, Clay had gone into the river…

Sonny had known, as he'd slid in a semi-controlled fashion down the slope through the trees with Cerberus leading the way, that Clay had probably gone for an unplanned swim. The fact that he wasn't answering on comms made that scenario even more likely. Sonny didn't want to think on it any further, didn't want to let his concentration be snatched by all the what-if's. There were a lot of rocks on the slope – Clay could have hit his head and be laying unconscious somewhere not too far off. Sonny pushed down his rising worry. But when they reached the river, and Cerb hadn't picked up any sign of Clay, Sonny just knew …

At least the river was flowing in the direction of exfil. Jason had called through to Blackburn, updated him on the incident. They'd been given the all clear that no one seemed to be following them. Been given the all clear to search for Clay – not that they wouldn't have. There was no way in hell they were leaving Clay out here. Sonny felt the familiar fire in his belly, the surge of protectiveness. He recognized the same determination in Brock and Jason. They were leaving with their boy – or not at all.

They'd moved swiftly along through the shadows, Cerberus sniffing and pulling the leash. The river had bubbled and splashed beside them, taunting them. They'd fanned out as the narrow gully had opened into a wider elbow; Jason checking uphill in case Clay had tried to make his way back towards the path, Sonny running ahead of Brock and Cerb, following the rocky bank, figuring he would be called back if they found something.

As it happened, Sonny was the one who had stumbled upon Clay first. Literally. He nearly went face first into the mud tripping over the kid – who was laying in a heap half in, half out of the water, face down in the mud. Frighteningly still.

He'd called to Brock and Jason on comms, wasted no time flipping Clay over and letting his helmet light skip over the kid's sickeningly still form. Hastily he'd felt for a pulse. Found none.

No, no, no –

Without thinking, he'd stripped Clay of his sodden gear, down to his waterlogged and sticking shirt. His little brother was as pale as a ghost. Blood trickling from a head wound – possibly a collision with a rock. Chest unmoving.

No, no, fucking no, don't you dare do this you little shit –

With trembling hands, Sonny began CPR.

Breathe, breathe, fucking breathe Clay –

Brock skidded to his knees beside him, but Sonny hardly noticed. He let Brock take over chest compressions. He pinched Clay's nose and breathed for the younger man.

"Come on Goldilocks," he whispered, desperately searching for any signs of life. Hating how cold Clay's skin was, the blue tinge to his lips.

Jason appeared. Sonny had no idea when he'd arrived. Cerb whined. Brock pumped, muttering his own string of curses and pleas. Sonny gave another two breaths. Jason appeared to be holding his breath as well as he pressed a gauze pad to Clay's seeping forehead. At least the blood was still slowly oozing. His heart couldn't have been stopped for too long.

Sonny had been in a few moments like this, with his current team mates, and previous. No matter what, they always caught him off guard. Appeared out of nowhere. A brother standing beside him – and then gone, in a heartbeat, snatched away. Never before had it been this painful. Perhaps because Clay was so young, had so much ahead of him. Perhaps because it had been because of something so stupid – no firefight, blaze of glory. Simply a muddy hill and a wrong step and a shitload of bad luck.

No, Sonny would not accept that their boy would go out like this.

"_Come on_," he grit, more forcefully, breathing once again for his brother, blinking back tears.

Clay could be arrogant. Clay could be annoying as hell. Clay could also be extremely stubborn. And it seemed that his unwavering stubbornness won tonight.

Sonny nearly toppled over with relief when Clay spluttered and choked, water suddenly gurgling forth from his lips as he gagged it out.

Offering up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening, Sonny grabbed at Clay's shoulders, and with Jason's help rolled him onto his side. Brock sat back on his hunches and clutched his head, panting, Cerb still whining by his side, trying to nuzzle in for a closer look. The wave of relief that crashed over them was powerful, but short lived. Clay had been unconscious for goodness knew how long, and he'd hit his head. He was most definitely not out of the woods yet.

"Clay?" Jason was leaning to peer at his rookie's face. "You hear me, buddy?"

But Clay's eyes were still closed. The water he'd spewed and coughed up had stopped, and now he lay shaking and wheezing, still frighteningly pale. It was obvious he wasn't going to just miraculously get up and walk away from this one.

Jason reported that they had Spenser, and the condition he was in. Requested that Trent be ready once they reached the chopper. Requested that they have medics on standby for when they returned to the Romanian base. Pursed his lips and cursed as Davis reported that they seemed to have three armed hostiles approaching from the direction of the village, following the trail, unlikely out for a leisurely pre-dawn walk.

Urgency coursed through them. They had to go - and go fast. No mean feat back up a slippery, muddy bank carrying an unconscious Clay. Sonny wasted no time hoisting Clay over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Jason would be ready to swap at the first sign of Sonny slowing down. Brock and Cerb took the lead, trusting that the dog would find the best path up the hill.

Sonny set his jaw, held Clay tight. He wouldn't falter. He would get Clay to the chopper, even if it killed him. He couldn't tell if Clay was still breathing, and there was no time to stop and check. They just had to run, and hope. Heart in his mouth, Sonny followed on Brock's heels, up through the shadowy trees that looked even more creepy through his NODs, with Jason bringing up the rear.

Adrenalin pumping, propelling him forwards, Sonny made it up the hill and all the way to the exfil point without having to swap with Jason. He nearly stumbled with gratitude at the sight of the waiting chopper, blades already turning as they closed the remaining distance. Jason urged them forwards, reporting that their pursuers were nearly on them. They barely made it on board before bullets began to ping off the side of the metal bird.

Ray and Brock returned a blast of heavy fire as Sonny rolled Clay as gently as possible off his shoulder, and Jason stabilized their rookie's head while Trent hit his knees and began assessing their boy. Sonny turned, joined Brock and Ray as the chopper took off, sending a furious burst of bullets in the direction of their pursuers. He needed something to take his anger out on, something to blame for what had happened to Clay. He wasn't sure if they hit their targets, but the assault stopped, and they rose above the trees into the dimly lit sky.

Sonny leaned against the side, trying desperately to catch his breath. Squeezed his eyes closed a moment. Was almost too scared to open them to look at Trent, at Jason, just in case their expressions confirmed his worst fear – that Clay hadn't made it. But he forced them open and saw Trent working feverishly, starting an IV, Jason putting pressure on Clay's head wound. The gauze was crimson, meaning blood was still pumping through Clay's veins. Which meant his heart was still beating. And the gentle fog against the inside of the oxygen mask strapped over his mouth confirmed that he was still breathing – even if it was jagged.

Sonny felt a hand on his shoulder, a gentle squeeze. He turned shakily and met Brock's eyes. The dark haired man gave a slight nod, offering a splinter of reassurance. But Sonny knew that none of them would be able to breathe properly until they knew for sure that Clay would be okay.

His gaze fell once again on their little brother, before skimming out the side of the chopper, scanning the countryside below. It looked eerily beautiful in the early morning light. The sun hadn't yet cracked the horizon, and he stared at the blue glow, where stars evaporated as they met the day. He caught sight of a large statue on a mountain top, its arms stretched wide. Felt a pang in his stomach. Clay had been rambling about it, on the trip over. Kid was always spurting facts. Read too much. Was a walking encyclopedia. Heart of Jesus Statue, or something like that. Romania's version of Christ the Redeemer. Clay had said he'd hoped to catch a glimpse, because it seemed kind of cool.

Sonny watched the pre-dawn light glint off the metal of the statue as they passed over. Glanced at Clay, who currently hovered somewhere between life and death. Sent up a prayer that his brother would be okay. Made a mental note to tell Clay he'd seen the statue, and it really was quite beautiful, standing watch over the surrounding villages.

Didn't mean he liked Transylvania though. No, Sonny was most definitely adding this place to his list of no-go zones, along with the jungle and any shark-infested ocean. As far as he was concerned, they couldn't get out of here fast enough. He wanted to leave this place and their God-awful mission behind him.

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Clay's senses came back online one by one.

He heard the soft beep of a machine, murmured voices.

Smelled the mild tang of disinfectant and rubber.

He had a bitter taste in his mouth and his tongue felt thick, throat scratchy.

And he felt the stiffness of fresh bed sheets, the balloon of a pillow cradling his head, a warm pressure resting atop his left wrist.

Cracking his eyes open to slits, he sought out the source of the pressure. It took a moment for his vision to focus. It blurred, wavered, and then finally settled on a figure sitting beside his bed.

Despite Clay's hazy, disjointed mind, he recognized that he was in a hospital. And he recognized the man sitting next to him as his gruff, often hot-headed team mate, Sonny Quinn.

Clay's brow furrowed, his mind unable to process why Sonny would be sitting by his bed. A glance around revealed the Texan wasn't alone. The rest of his team took up various positions around the room, slouched in uncomfortable looking chairs, in uncomfortable looking positions.

Clay flinched as his foggy mind finally registered the fact that his head throbbed, and he felt like an elephant sat on his chest. It hurt to breathe. Absently, he realized he had an oxygen mask strapped to his face. He tried to reach up to remove it, but his arm wouldn't cooperate. Pinch of an IV. They must have him on the good stuff, he thought vaguely.

He must have managed some sort of movement, because Sonny's attention was suddenly on him, and the rest of his team were on their feet, crowding around. Their faces swam in and out of focus.

Sonny said something, his expression washed with relief.

But Clay couldn't quite make out his words. His ears were ringing, weren't quite working properly. How the hell had he ended up here? Obviously he'd got himself into some sort of mess. The last thing he remembered was being at a bar.

Brian? Eyes darting around, he searched for his best friend.

He must have said something, because Sonny glanced worriedly at Trent, who was beside him, before returning his gaze to Clay. Clay caught a hint of something akin to sadness flicker within his eyes. Trent said something, lips moving, but Clay couldn't quite make it out. All he heard was the words 'confused,' and 'normal.' Trent didn't appear as concerned as Sonny.

Someone patted Clay's leg. Clay's blurry gaze wandered until it caught on Jason. His team leader looked like he'd aged. Absently, Clay wondered if he was the reason behind the worry he saw etched into the lines around Jason's eyes. The older man squeezed a smile, nodded.

"… good… have you back… Six."

The words reached Clay's ears a moment after Jason's lips moved. It was like watching a movie where the sound was a step behind the image.

Clay couldn't quite understand what all the guys were doing here. Surely they had better things to be doing. He wanted to know what had happened to land him in here. Had he screwed up? Was everyone okay.

Silently he did a head count – six faces hovered around his bed. That was good, all accounted for. And Brian was there, standing behind Sonny, smiling warmly. Clay recalled losing him at the bar, worrying where his friend had gone. He felt relieved, seeing him now.

Thoughts wove, swam, floated away. His eyes drifted closed. It was too hard to keep them open.

The last thing he felt was a reassuring squeeze on his wrist.

And the last thing he heard was an uncharacteristically gentle voice with a heavy Texan drawl.

"… back to sleep, Goldilocks… got your back."

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**End**


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